The End of the Affair
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: This was supposed to be a cheerful story where they lived happily ever after, but nothing ever works out the way you plan. [SamJack]


Title: The End of the Affair

Author: Melanie-Anne

Email: melsie04@hotmail.com 

Rating: PG

Archive: Where you will, just let me know so I can visit.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, so there :op Without A Trace and its characters belong to the bigwigs at CBS. Not even the title is mine – I stole it from Graham Greene. Also, I claim no responsibility for the story itself. Blame my muse, she's far too morbid for my liking (I think she's stopped taking her medication – but that's another story!)

Summary: This was supposed to be a cheerful story where they lived happily ever after, but nothing ever works out the way you plan. [Sam/Jack]

* * *

He didn't plan on falling on love with her.

It wasn't supposed to turn into an affair. They'd come together out of mutual need after a particularly difficult case. Samantha was shaken up after being shot at (and dealing with the aftermath of killing the shooter) and Jack was upset because they'd found the victim dead. He brought her coffee in the ER and felt an unfamiliar stirring in the pit of his stomach as he watched the doctor treat the graze on her arm. He could tell it would leave a scar and somehow the thought of Samantha's perfect skin marred seemed so wrong. He drove her home, accepted her invitation to go up for a drink, held her while she cried and held her, afterwards, while she slept. In the dusky light he looked at her and decided her skin really was perfect. 

There was no reason to feel guilty, he told himself. It was just once. He still loved Marie. He was happy with his life. This wouldn't change anything.

But a few days later he noticed Samantha was no longer wearing her bandage (and he realized then just how much time he spent watching her). He asked to see the graze and was gently brushing his fingertips along her skin when it hit him that this was Samantha and they were in his office and this was completely inappropriate. And he remembered how soft she had been under him, remembered the way her hair looked splayed out on her pillow and he could again taste the tears on her skin. When she smiled shyly instead of pulling away, he knew she remembered too. But he still didn't realize he was in trouble.

They flew down to Daytona Beach to chase a lead and he bought her dinner. They shared his motel room and this time it was slower and gentler. Afterwards, they spoke for hours until she nestled against him and announced she was tired.

At home, Marie commented that he seemed happier and he lied and said it was because of a case.

And he kept seeing Samantha.

She understood when he didn't want to talk. She made no demands. Except for a smile or two, at work she was completely professional and he loved the way her eyes sparkled when he deliberately brushed past her. They'd always had a good working partnership and it evolved into something more. Sometimes they didn't even need to speak aloud to know what the other would say.

Vivian knocked on his door one morning (Samantha was in Buffalo – when it came to work, he always knew where she was). She asked him if he knew what he was doing and he nodded. He could see she didn't believe him and she told him to be careful and warned him not to break Samantha's heart.

A couple of weeks later, Samantha tearfully told him she was leaving. He thought she meant she wanted the affair to end, but when she didn't show up for work the next morning and Vivian asked him if he was okay, he knew what she'd really been saying.

He checked her apartment first. He found a strange woman watching television on Samantha's couch. She said her name was Marilyn and she was housesitting. And no, she didn't know where Samantha had gone or how long she would be away. He would later learn that Marilyn was her sister and the entire time he was there, Samantha was in her bedroom, sobbing into her pillow.

He couldn't call her parents and Vivian refused to. Then she explained that Samantha had asked not to be found and Jack felt his world crumble beneath him.

"If you love her, leave her alone," Vivian said.

If you love her . . . The words echoed in his mind and he realized that yes, he did love her, and he wondered why he was so surprised.

At home, Marie commented that he seemed unhappy and he lied and said it was a case. He saw Samantha in every blonde he saw – alive and dead. Work suffered, his marriage suffered, and Vivian told him to pull himself together. He went to Samantha's apartment again and this time it was completely empty. The landlord asked if he was Jack Malone and gave him an envelope.

__

Dear Jack,

I'm sorry things happened this way. I wish it could have worked out differently but I guess I always knew it would never last. You have a wife, a family, and I can only ever be the other woman. Still, I'm not sorry for what we had, but I am sorry for hurting you. I wish there was an easier way. You made me very happy and I will never forget you. Goodbye Jack.

Love Sam.

Only he was allowed to call her Sam. For a moment, he hated her for leaving but then he knew she was right. What they had was temporary. He had another life; so what if Sam had made him happy too?

He folded the letter up then walked by himself for a long time. In Central Park, he watched a young couple stroll hand in hand and realized that he'd never just held Samantha's hand.

He dreamed of her often and woke up one night to find Marie crying. She wouldn't say why but the next day she filed for divorce. She said she'd thought he was having a mid-life crisis but now she knew she was wrong. He didn't fight her.

He was in Los Angeles on a case the next time he saw Samantha. He was too numb with shock to do anything except stare. Her hair was longer and lighter than he remembered but he would recognize her anywhere. She'd lost weight but she looked good. She looked happy. He recalled Vivian's words and so when she jogged past, he didn't call out. At least now he knew where she was.

When he got back to New York, he took his daughters to dinner. As he dropped them off afterwards, Marie started arguing with him. She asked if he'd moved in with his slut and he got angry and yelled back that he loved Samantha. But he knew then that to Marie and the girls she would always be the woman ho destroyed their family, and admitted that she was probably better off in LA.

He thought he would never see her again and told himself he was okay with that. Slowly, he began to heal.

And then, one July morning, there was a knock on his office door and he looked up and there she was.

Her hair was short, cropped close against her skull and she was too thin. She was still beautiful. He fought his first impulse to hug her to him and forced himself to act calm.

"Sam."

She smiled and closed the door behind her. "I had to see you again. You look good. I've missed you."

He said nothing.

"Jack, I – I'm sorry things happened the way they did. I never, ever, meant for you to get hurt. I heard about you and Marie and I'm sorry for that too. I—"

"Why?" His tone was harsher than he intended.

She fidgeted with her necklace, tears springing to her eyes. Again, he fought the urge to hold her.

"I don't have much time," she said.

"You have to be somewhere?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't have much time left."

And then he _knew_ and he was out of his seat and hugging her. "Oh, Sam . . . Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

She clung to him and said she was sorry.

Much later, they sat side by side on the couch and he held her hand as she explained. He marveled at how brave she was and ran his fingers through her hair – hair that had been cut before the chemotherapy could rob her of it. When she told him remission had only lasted two months and she couldn't die without him knowing she loved him, he cried.

He convinced her to stay in New York and moved her things into his place. He hinted at marriage but she said she didn't need that; loving him was enough.

When she went into hospital, he took leave from work and spent every waking minute at her side. He watched her strength fade as each day passed. When she signed the DNR, he went out into the hallway and punched a wall. He filled her room with flowers – happy colors like red and orange and yellow.

It happened in September. Fall. The season where everything that was once alive and green turned brown and died. He was reading to her when he realized there was a sudden stillness in the room. He looked up, saw the single tear glistening on her still-warm skin and reached out to wipe it away.

It rained the day he buried her. The service was small – just her family and a few people from work. He was the last person to leave the cemetery and as he stood there, soaking wet, he had the momentary urge to throw himself into the grave with her.

But then he thought of her alive and he knew he could never do that. He owed her life.

He smiled, because he would see her again one day, but not today.

FIN


End file.
